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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23022685">Sweet Rose and Spicy Ginger</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhelfromGrace/pseuds/PhelfromGrace'>PhelfromGrace</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars Sequel Trilogy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Mild Sexual Content, Romance, Slice of Life</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 12:21:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,610</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23022685</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhelfromGrace/pseuds/PhelfromGrace</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The many ways in which a man falls for a Rose, or a woman falls for a Ginger.</p><p>A sweet/spicy collection of lighthearted GingerRose one-shots. Titles include:</p><p>A Taste of Ginger (Food!AU)<br/>Matching the Bite (University!AU)<br/>Tase it, Tease it, Tame it (Bouncer!AU)<br/></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Armitage Hux/Rose Tico</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>136</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. A Taste of Ginger</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/>
</p>
<p><br/>
</p>
<p>They say that to succeed in life, it’s not what you know but who you know.</p>
<p>Rose Tico knows things, stuff, and how to fix them.  But she doesn’t know a lot of people, at least not directly.  She only has one valuable connection: Finn, a man she dated for a brief period before he dumped her for Poe.  Finn isn’t a big deal, but he’s related to Rey, his foster sibling who happens to be the fierce girl engaged to Ben Solo, the man who used to work for the largest e-commerce company alongside Armitage Hux, the tech investor whose support she potentially needed to launch her start-up.</p>
<p><i>Three degrees of separation, not awkward at all,</i> Rose convinces herself as she fidgets in her seat, a hard wooden stool that matches the eclectic hipster décor of the café where they are scheduled to meet.</p>
<p>Barely five minutes elapses, and she’s already feeling uncomfortable in her pointy heels, pants and blazer over the low-cut top exposing cleavage that she thought would be empowering.  Her hands feel restless, but she can’t touch her face or play with the curls of her hair, in fear of messing up her style and makeup that are so foreign on her skin.  Instead, she reaches for her phone, glancing at the time (10:26AM), and pulling up the brief text exchange from Hux sent last week.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>This is Hux.<br/>
10:30. September 17, 2009.<br/>
Takodana Café. </p>
</blockquote><p>Her reply was just as terse.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Hello to you too<br/>
I’m Rose<br/>
See you there</p>
</blockquote><p>No reply followed.  <i>Cold bastard.</i></p>
<p>In a perfect world, she would have received Hux’s number from Finn and initiated the first move on her own terms.  She could have introduced herself as his father's brother's nephew's cousin's former roommate, to gauge his sense of humour. She would then clarify that she was just the ex of his former colleague’s fiancé’s foster sibling, clearly a better alternative.  </p>
<p>Idly checking her phone, she watches the clock finally move to 10:30, and then, Armitage Hux walks through the door like he’s set on a timer. </p>
<p>She stands up and waves.  He’s quite a striking man with that flaming ginger hair, unnaturally straight posture— uptight, no doubt— and sharp suit. He doesn’t smile, of course he doesn’t, but he does acknowledge her with a curt nod and an intense green-eyed stare.  Tall, white, male, privileged.  She swallows her resent and greets him with a smile that hurts her cheeks. </p>
<p>She extends her hand. “Rose Tico, it’s a pleasure.” </p>
<p>He glances down, and for a split-second she thinks that he isn’t going to take it, but then he does. “Armitage Hux.”  </p>
<p>The handshake is weak and brief. She wonders if he’s underestimating her. They sit down across one another at the small table, and Rose instinctively scoots her stool a bit backwards, to ensure that his stupidly long legs won’t accidentally brush against her knees.  Before she can break the ice, the waiter already emerges to take their order.</p>
<p>Hux doesn’t bother looking his way, and just waves his hand dismissively.  “The usual, thank you.”</p>
<p>The waiter turns to Rose, whose hand balls into an angry fist underneath the table.  “C-Chai latte, please. Extra sweet,” she says with the sweetest smile she can muster to the waiter, then glares at Hux as she completes her final amendment. “And <i>no</i> ginger.”</p>
<p>His eyebrow quirks. “You’re averse to ginger?”</p>
<p>“I avoid it, when I can.  It’s just <i>not</i> my taste. Kind of gross, to be honest.”</p>
<p>“Agreed. I too find it revolting.” </p>
<p>She’s lying. Of course she likes ginger, she wouldn’t survive Asian cuisine otherwise. She just dislikes <i>him</i>.  Rose begins to doubt whether she can sit through this whole meeting.  Not even five minutes of interaction, and she already wants to bite this guy’s finger off.</p>
<p>“Let me just cut to the chase,” she says, suppressing the violence.  “I’ve been thinking about cats and cat litter a lot these days.  There are some great self-cleaning litter boxes out there, but then I wondered, can it be more eco-friendly? So I designed and created a prototype where the box is hooked up to a water line and instead of using litter, the waste can be washed out from bio-degradable granules. I don’t want to bore you with the details on how it works—"</p>
<p>“No, please,” he interrupts. “Don’t shy from the details.  Carry on.”</p>
<p>“Uh, okay, sure…” </p>
<p>Rose proceeds to explain the mechanism of her design while Hux listens to her with rapt attention.  It’s strangely easy to talk tech with him.  She’s on the verge of searching for a pen and napkin to draw out some of her designs, when the waiter returns with their drink order.  He places an impressive mug of chai latte in front of her, and a small minimalist black teapot with a simple matching Asian-style teacup for Hux.  Rose assumed that Hux was a coffee drinker, so she’s a little taken aback by his actual preference.  She wonders what kind of tea is in the pot.</p>
<p>“It’s Tarine,” he supplies, likely noticing her curiosity. “Or <i>kuding</i>, to be precise. Tarine is the brand name which popularized the tea for westerners.”</p>
<p>“Isn’t it extremely bitter? You actually like that stuff?”</p>
<p>Hux shrugs his shoulders and takes a sip. “An acquired taste, I suppose.” </p>
<p>“Weirdo.”</p>
<p>“I beg your pardon?”</p>
<p>“You can’t stand ginger, a staple in Asian cuisine, but you like <i>kuding?</i>  That is, objectively, abnormal.”</p>
<p>A blush creeps up Hux’s pale neck, tinting his ears. “The two are incomparable!  One is atrociously pungent, a truly offensive experience may I add, whereas the other—"</p>
<p>A beeping noise cuts off his budding tirade, then continues to beep progressively louder. He pulls out his phone and shuts off the annoying sound.</p>
<p>“Regretfully, I am out of time.”</p>
<p>Rose glances at her phone. Only twenty minutes have passed.</p>
<p>“Pleasure meeting you Rose. I’ll be in touch.”</p>
<p>He gets up and pays at the counter, then is out the door before Rose can even register what just occurred.  Who the fuck sets a timer for a coffee meeting? Armitage Hux, apparently.  </p>
<p>She sits in silence, finishing her chai latte that’s too sweet and needs the ginger.  She doesn’t want to waste it, mostly out of habit and principle, even though her face scrunches up at every sip. It’s her punishment for lying.</p>
<p>After successfully downing the drink, she heads to the counter to pay, but the bill is already settled. Rose frowns. </p>
<p><i>I’ll be in touch.</i> </p>
<p>There’s no way he’s serious. Those words, it's just something polite British investors said to get rid of women like her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>**</p>
</div><blockquote>
  <p>18:30. September 20, 2009.<br/>
Canto Bite. Until then.</p>
</blockquote><p>No matter how many times Rose re-reads the text message, she remains baffled.  The <i>Canto Bite</i> was a high-end Asian fusion restaurant, run by a famous Cantonese chef, with a waiting list so long that the only way to realistically make a reservation was to rely on a cancellation. This man, who can’t even stomach ginger, invited her to the pinnacle of fine dining. </p>
<p>Well, he’s a pompous man after all. Maybe he brings all his clients to places like these to show off his wealth and connections.  </p>
<p>Rose stands in front of the restaurant, a little chilled by the evening air hitting her exposed skin, from her strapless dress to her strappy heels.  She stares at her phone and, like clockwork, Hux arrives at 6:30PM sharp, again in a sharp suit and a face that’s already judging the food for its ‘pungent’ smell. (Or maybe he just has resting stick-up-the-ass face.) He barely acknowledges her, and simply ushers her by the small of her back into the restaurant.</p>
<p>The place is dazzling, she begrudgingly admits.  Rose isn’t a fan of luxury, but she can’t contain her excitement at the amazing dishes that are served.  Even if they aren’t traditional, the food is both beautiful and delicious that she momentarily forgets all ethical implications of gorging on such delicacies.</p>
<p>Her experience would be ten times better if the sourpuss man across from her would take more than a small nibble at every dish.</p>
<p>“Why are we even here?” she asks, annoyed at the way he shuffles his jellyfish salad.</p>
<p>“Are you not pleased?”</p>
<p>“Oh, <i>I</i> am. But you’ve been picking at your food like it’s festered with maggots that are suddenly going to jump out if you don’t check first.”</p>
<p>“Admittedly, I sustain my diet on tea, soylent, and supplements.  <i>This</i> is uncharted territory.”</p>
<p>“You know, food isn’t just about the taste.  It’s also about the shared experience.  If you’re not enjoying yourself, I don’t think I can either.”</p>
<p>His scowl softens, and Rose is taken aback. “I’m not accustomed to these utensils,” he adds.</p>
<p>She watches his clumsy hold on the chopsticks that only grab one measly strand of jellyfish.  She flags down the waiter and asks for a fork. Dinner carries on much smoother from there. She’s not sure if he enjoys the food, but he appears less annoyed and even finishes his plate.</p>
<p>By the time they leave the restaurant, Rose realises that she hadn’t mentioned her start-up at all throughout the evening.  And when he places his coat on her shoulders to shield her from the cold, as he guides her to his car, she can’t seem to bring up the topic.  </p>
<p>She curses his British gentleman etiquette for distracting her from her goal.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>**</p>
<p>Rose enters her apartment in a daze, a little lightheaded by the rice wine and his expensive cologne that clings to her skin, from that damn warm coat she can feel like a ghost on her shoulders.  She has no experience with investment meetings, but she’s pretty sure that this was not how they usually unfolded.</p>
<p>She texts Finn:</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Can you give me Rey or Ben’s number<br/>
I need to know what they told Hux</p>
</blockquote><p>His reply was immediate:</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>With them right now<br/>
Give me a sec</p>
</blockquote><p>A minute later, she receives a reply, but not from Finn. It’s a forwarded picture message from Ben, with the caption:</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>This girl is interested in you. Give her a chance.</p>
</blockquote><p>Rose gasps in horror and nearly drops her phone.  That wasn’t just <i>any</i> picture.  Oh, she looked good with her glowing complexion, genuine smile, blissful gaze… but her shoulders were bare because she was <i>naked</i>. It was a <i>post-coital</i> picture. Fuckin’ Finn!</p>
<p>Was this some sick twisted joke? Or just a terrible happenstance of broken telephone. </p>
<p>Hux wouldn’t have necessarily known that it was post-coital, but it was suggestive nonetheless, and he certainly never got the memo that she was looking for an investor. She was seeking a business relationship, not a romantic one.</p>
<p>From this photo, to the cleavage she exposed as a first impression, no wonder he brought her to the <i>Canto Bite</i>.  Rose catches her reflection in the mirror on the wall; her best self stares back at her, pretty, like a girl going on a date with a guy that she was trying to impress.  She had never been like this with Finn. And truthfully, she <i>was</i> trying to impress Hux… for his money. </p>
<p>Now she feels dirty.  This isn’t her. She can’t keep up this farce. She’d have to cut her losses, find another investor somehow. She can’t lie.</p>
<p>Her phone buzzes. </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Thank you for opening my palate.<br/>
I hope that we can continue to build this relationship.<br/>
Have a good night, Rose.</p>
</blockquote><p>Rose wants to throw her phone against the wall, and not think about this terrible turn of events. Shower, change, get a tub of ice cream, and binge a TV show.  But she can’t because her parents taught her gratitude, and not to mention, saving face.</p>
<p>She texts him back: </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Thanks for tonight<br/>
I also had fun<br/>
See you around! Zzz</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>
<p><br/>
</p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>**</p>
</div><p>The best method of rejection happens to be her strong suit: the friendzone.  And by friendzone, she means <i>she</i> will be rejected as a friend, not him.  If she can organically dispel his weird romantic interest, to make him see that she wasn’t attractive but still charming and intelligent as a friend, then maybe he would consider her as a trustworthy business partner.  </p>
<p>When he tries to set up another date according to his schedule and location of preference, she shoots him down and offers her own time and place.</p>
<p>Lunch hour. At a hole-in-the-wall pho shop near her workplace.</p>
<p>Rose arrives a little late, and the effect is immediate. The deep scowl and upturned nose are dialed to the max, maybe from her tardiness, or maybe from the smell; he looks jarringly out of place in his standard impeccable suit against the backdrop of dingy storefront with its utilitarian blocky signage that includes the restaurant’s phone number.  </p>
<p>“Hey! Sorry I’m late. Got caught up with work.”</p>
<p>She’s wearing work-appropriate clothing as a videogame repair tech— converse shoes, loose jeans frayed at the edges, hoodie, hair in a ponytail.  No makeup. She can’t look any less flattering, and although she feels a little self-conscious (and much shorter without the heels), she focuses on operation friendzone and swallows her nerves.</p>
<p>“Not a problem,” he replies. His scowl softens, which doesn’t sit well with Rose. It however returns once they step foot in the shop. </p>
<p>Rose grabs the first seats she can find.  The menu is written on the wall, in Vietnamese, so she takes the initiative and orders for him.  Hux sits stiffly in the flimsy plastic chair, and she almost laughs at his wary expression.  He’s probably about to burst a few blood vessels. He seems especially disturbed by the cases of soda cans stacked in the dining area.</p>
<p>“It’s organized chaos,” Rose explains. </p>
<p>“That’s an oxymoron! How can they function in such an unkempt environment?” </p>
<p>“It’s an immigrant thing, you wouldn’t understand.”</p>
<p>“How does their citizenship have anything to do with their utter lack of order? May I remind you, <i>I</i> am also an immigrant.”</p>
<p>“They’re hustling twenty-four seven.  Plus, the people here eating, we don’t give a shit where they keep their stock. And, you know, it’s probably more efficient ‘cause they don’t have to go into the back to fill the drink fridge up front.”</p>
<p>“That is… a fair point. I concede.”</p>
<p>Rose stares at him, a little dumbfounded.  She expected him to bite back with the usual conceit.  Their bowls of pho thankfully arrive in that moment, and she immediately dives in with gusto, distracting herself from all inconvenient thoughts.  The heat in her cheeks is certainly due to the hot soup. </p>
<p>She tries not to look up, but she does notice that he’s expertly wielding the chopsticks. Did he practice?  She doesn’t want to dwell on it.</p>
<p>They finish their meal relatively quickly and she pays for him, a task that’s easy to orchestrate when he doesn’t speak their language.  As they exit the shop, he appears a little shell-shocked from the experience; she can’t help but feel a little proud that he finished his bowl of food.  </p>
<p>Rose claps him on the shoulder, firmly, in the most dude-bro of bro ways. She smiles and channels a clear friendzone vibe with her body language. “See ya around, Hux!”</p>
<p>She saunters off, thinking to herself that it was the most casual, friend-like date in the universe. There is no way in hell that he’ll be interested in her, not in that way, ever again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>**</p>
</div><blockquote>
  <p>Are you available Sunday afternoon?</p>
</blockquote><p>Rose wants to bang her head against a brick wall, but her skull probably wouldn’t withstand the damage; it’s not as dense as his apparently.  Although, if she was being completely honest, she does admire his tenacity.  It’s a good quality to have, as a business partner. She was also a perseverant and hardworking person, and she will not admit defeat from her mission.  There was only one way to scare off white dudes obsessed with order.</p>
<p>Chinatown.  His already anal posture tightens even further as they pass the lion gates and head into the heart towards the open Sunday market.  </p>
<p>The crowds.  The pungent medicinal herbs. The flayed rabbits. The smell of rancid fish. The passersby hacking and spitting on the ground.  He must be freaking out. He <i>must.</i></p>
<p>But in case that was not enough to scare him, Rose has brought the big guns into town, or rather, she was seeking it out.</p>
<p>“What. Is that?” he asks, one hand pointing downwards while the other covers his nose.</p>
<p>Rose just smiles as she surveys the bounty of golden-green spiky fruit.  She takes in a whiff of its strong scent, which probably smells like petrol or rotten flesh, to him.</p>
<p>“It’s all the rage in South-East Asia. The king of fruit.” She picks one up by its short stem. “Durian.”</p>
<p>His horrified face is priceless, and Rose revels at the power.  She smiles extra brightly, genuinely, especially as she passes the fruit to the stallkeeper who whips out a knife, ready to open up the fruit right there and then.  She can practically feel his recoil, the repulsion emanating from his pasty skin.</p>
<p>“Are they, serving that to us? Right now?”</p>
<p>“Of course! Best to eat it fresh. Well, as fresh as it can be. It’s much better in Asia, but these look <i>great.”</i></p>
<p>Rose requests only a quarter portion of the fruit but pays in full. She’s not that evil and won’t make him eat more than he can stomach.  In fact, she doesn’t expect it to touch his lips at all.</p>
<p>She hands him a piece. “Be careful with the pit.”</p>
<p>He stays very still, and she shrugs. “Suit yourself. More for me. Thought you’d be man enough to handle a bit of durian.”</p>
<p>Just as she is about to take a bite, he grabs it from her and gnaws at the stringy creamy flesh.  He surprisingly does not gag, and simply continues to eat till the pit.  She does the same, and they eat in silence. Rose is seriously off her game.</p>
<p>“It’s…not as bad as it smells,” he says, as they finish up. “The bitter taste is agreeable.”</p>
<p>“Weirdo.”</p>
<p>“Pardon?”</p>
<p>“Gosh, you’re just so <i>weird.”</i>  She bursts into laughter and repeatedly punches his arm in jest, hoping that the dude-bro gesture will throw <i>him</i> off his game, to remind him that she isn’t girlfriend material.  He moves his arm and she assumes that he’s trying to block her, but then, he catches her fist and…laces his fingers into hers, interlocking the joints. </p>
<p>He doesn’t make eye contact, even as she searches his face for a sign of equal jest. He’s not joking.  He seriously wants to hold her hand.  When did his expression become so soft? When did he become so… vulnerable-looking? Where was the uptight asshole?!</p>
<p>Rose tries to distract herself with useless chatter, acting casual and comfortable, despite her uncontrollable heartrate.</p>
<p>Hand in hand, they peruse the market. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><br/>
</p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>**</p>
</div><p>When he invites her over to his place, Rose only agrees because he wanted her to meet his cat, Millicent, which sounded like the perfect opportunity to pitch her start-up.</p>
<p>Except, now that she stands in his beautiful yet cold living room, she can’t muster up the courage to address the topic.  It doesn’t feel appropriate, especially when he’s asking her to stay here, to cat-sit while he’s away for business next week. </p>
<p>“You’ve met me what, four times? Fifth, including right now. Are you usually this trustworthy?”</p>
<p>“Not at all. I naturally tend towards wary, but we have a connection.”</p>
<p>“Oh, how can I forget— I’m your father’s brother’s nephew’s former roommate.”</p>
<p>He chuckles, to her utter bafflement. “Hang on, you get the reference?” she asks.</p>
<p>“Of course. I happen to be fond of the franchise.”</p>
<p>“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I bet you rooted for the bad guys. You totally strike me as imperial.” </p>
<p>“Perhaps.”  </p>
<p>Millicent rubs her head against Rose’s legs, and purrs.  She crouches down to pet the fluffy ginger ball behind the ear.</p>
<p>“She likes you.”</p>
<p>“Animals usually do.”</p>
<p>“She doesn’t take to anyone.”</p>
<p>“Guess I’m not just anyone.”</p>
<p>Millicent suddenly scampers off like a literal scaredy-cat, and Rose stretches to full height to see what was up.  Hux, was up.  Right there, in front of her, so close in an instant.  He gently lifts her chin and bends down to press his lips onto hers.  Their first kiss, and she accepts it.  </p>
<p>“Then it’s settled,” he says, green eyes focusing on nothing but her. “Please take care of her while I’m away.” </p>
<p>Before he has the chance to lean in for another kiss, Rose moves to the television set and rifles through his collection to put on a movie.  He stares at her dumbly, then the iconic score of <i>Space Battles</i> blasts through surround speakers.  She flashes him a cheeky grin.</p>
<p>His arm drapes over her shoulder the moment they sit down on the ice-blue sofa. </p>
<p>Between laser sword fights and corny dialogue, the bouts of makeout sessions were inevitable.  She feels guilty each time, but his lips are soft and his body is warm, and she can’t get herself to push him away.</p>
<p>Even during the climax, when the ridiculous Imperial Chancellor yells the famous line ‘I lost the Star Wars’ before impaling himself, Rose can only taste the triumph of Armitage’s assertive tongue.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><br/>
</p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>**</p>
</div><p>The week passes too fast.  Seven days was not enough time for her to repent for her sins, for her to settle her feelings and figure out the best course of action.  Women always had to choose between romance and career.  They could never achieve both. It angered and saddened her, and in the end, maybe she didn’t deserve either.</p>
<p>He walks into the apartment, posture stiff as always, but his face relaxes when he sees her.  Rose can barely contain her guilt.  She needs to leave, so she nods and brushes past him to head for the door.</p>
<p>He catches her wrist. “It’s late. Stay the night.”</p>
<p>The look he gives her, she isn’t blind. He doesn’t want her to stay in the guest room where she bunked for the past week.  He wants her in his <i>bedroom.</i> </p>
<p>She can’t lie anymore, neither to herself nor to him. She… likes the idiot. And because she likes him, cares about him, she can’t be with him.  He deserves better.  He should be with someone kinder, not her lying ass, a girl who’d lead him on for money. </p>
<p>“Armitage, I have a confession to make.”  He lets go of her wrist and regards her seriously.  It makes Rose nervous, but she faces her fear with confidence. “I only got to know you because I saw you as a business contact.  Someone who could fund my start-up.”</p>
<p>“I’m not surprised. How much do you need?”</p>
<p>“Hang on, what?” She searches for any sign of sarcasm, but there is none. “You’re not pissed?”</p>
<p>“Should I be affronted? I doubt women pretty as yourself would affiliate with me because of my appearance. It’s wealth that is attractive, I understand.”</p>
<p>Wealth wasn’t attractive, <i>he</i> was. But also… “You find me pretty?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” he answered, as if that was plainly obvious. As if <i>she</i> was the idiot.</p>
<p>“Weirdo.”</p>
<p>“<i>You—</i>"</p>
<p>“Anyway, I feel terrible for lying… I should have made myself clear from the beginning… I knew your intentions, but deliberately went along with it.  Sorry, I don’t think we can continue this. You deserve better, not this kind of shallow treatment.” </p>
<p>“Rose, I am wholeheartedly interested in your business proposal.  I thought that my problems would be solved when Jeff Snoke stepped down, and then Ren left.  But First Order has since been taken over by Pryde and Palpatine.  These ancient relics, they are inefficient and will run the company to the ground.”</p>
<p>He takes her gently by the wrist, and she notices his slight tremble. “These past weeks, you’ve allowed me to let loose.”</p>
<p>“That was you letting loose?”</p>
<p>“Of course, I’m usually strict.”</p>
<p>She feels the subtle tremor in his grasp, and her heart crumbles.  This man, he was constantly pushing himself out of his comfort zone, even now, it was probably difficult for him to confide into her.  He did this all, for her. <i>Fuckin’ hell.</i></p>
<p>“I’d like to take my life in a different direction.  I am, genuinely, looking for brilliant minds. I need people like you— skillful, experienced, who know things and how to fix them, how to innovate.”</p>
<p>“So, you’re planning on quitting First Order?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“And you think I’m brilliant. That my ideas and skills are enough to break into the industry?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“And you… find me pretty, even when I’m dressed down?”</p>
<p>“Immensely.”</p>
<p>“And you like me, even after I lied to you about my intentions?”</p>
<p>“I more than like you, Rose.”</p>
<p>Oh, fuck it. She shakes off his grip and uses both hands to grab his face and pull it down to hers. She kisses him deeply, clutching tufts of ginger hair, and pushing all her feelings into him.</p>
<p>When they break off for air, his pretty eyes blink, in a daze. “Was that a gesture of gratitude?” he asks.</p>
<p>“Dummy, women never kiss a man like that for gratitude. Geez, what kind of idiot do you have to be? Listen, I still feel terrible about the lie, but it just means that I gotta make it up to you.  I’m not after your money, and I’m not just saying thanks. I… like you.  I want <i>you,</i> Armitage.”</p>
<p>He grabs her this time, not by the face, but in a swooping bridal carry to his bedroom.</p>
<p>Their heavy petting becomes so intense that Millicent leaves the room, tail and head high like she was above their animal behaviour.  Clothes strewn haphazardly on his otherwise neat floor, the trail leads to their bare bodies, to Rose on her knees running a finger along his hard cock.</p>
<p>“Whoa. It’s like Gỏi cuốn.”</p>
<p>“I beg your pardon?”</p>
<p>“Vietnamese spring rolls, the ones wrapped in bánh tráng.”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“<i>Bánh tráng.</i> Rice paper. Translucent stuff.”</p>
<p>“A-are you implying that I’m thin, like <i>paper?”</i></p>
<p>“No, I've just never been with someone with skin so…pale, almost like the skin isn’t there and you can see everything beneath, like bánh tráng. It’s fascinating.”</p>
<p>“You shouldn’t dawdle before your food for too long. It will get cold.”</p>
<p>“As a matter of fact, those spring rolls are served cold.”</p>
<p>“Rose. Do you want a taste or not?”</p>
<p>She smiles and dives in, to savour the ginger, this spice that’s always needed to add a bit of kick to her palate.  She devours it, licking and sucking until her mouth drips with tangy pre-cum and he pulls her off, to sample her instead.  When her toes curl from his gorging, he does not relent and then fills her belly with sweet delight.</p>
<p>Between romance and career, Rose chooses to take both, not because she was gluttonous, but because she deserves it.  Every woman does.</p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Inspired by afterblossom’s ‘I hate brocolli’ GingerRose chibi comic. You know the one. It’s adorable.  </p>
<p>But seriously, every time I think I’m over TRoS, it has a way of kicking me in the nuts. Hope this silly AU can bring people joy.</p>
<p>More modern one-shots to come. I actually have 8 story titles, but only 6 are drafted.<br/>I'm open to other prompts/suggestions if they tickle my fancy.  Subscribe for updates!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Matching the Bite</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p><b>M-Rating</b><br/>Hux gets bitten at a masked BDSM party. He is determined to match the teeth marks to the mouth of the girl he has fallen for.   Professor by day, he struggles with budget cuts and must hire a work study grad student to handle the repairs of his crumbling lab equipment.</p><p><b>Tags:</b> University AU, Slowburn, Slice of Life, Light Angst, Sexual Content</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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  <em>Blood dripped from the half-moon of punctures on the side of his palm, but the pain was immediately silenced by her body descending into him.  He couldn’t see her face, only lips remained uncovered behind the mask she wore— dangerous cherry red lips, a rose with sharp thorns smeared with his blood.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>She slid into him, fitting perfectly like her skin-tight black leather gloves that caressed his bare white shoulders as she soothed him with her rocking hips; all his pain, from his hand, from his work week, from his past, disappeared into her depths.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He couldn’t help it. He forced himself up, and she gasped when he grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her into a deep kiss. It was bad etiquette. Ties and strings were strictly toys, and baggage was supposed to be left at the door.  Pleasure was the name of the game, not sentimentality.  But Armitage liked this girl, and he never liked anyone, never wanted to kiss anyone.  He wanted to let her know, so he told her with his tongue, in her mouth.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He might not know her, not even her name nor her voice, but there was something about her demeanor and the way she had courted him, a strange mix of dominance and sweet kindness, that he craved in his life.  He wanted her in his life.  Nestling inside of her wasn’t enough; he wanted her by his side, outside, in a world beyond leather, chains, and mystery.  He wished they weren’t masked because he wanted to see the full spectrum of her pretty face.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>She rode him until he spent himself and grew soft. Then, she clambered off, swinging thigh-high booted legs over his torso and off the bed. He quickly shook off the afterglow daze— she was already at the door, she couldn’t leave just yet, not when he was convinced that he found someone special.  He enlaced her body from behind, gently, not to scare her. She was much shorter than him, but it was impossible to assess her exact height with those skyscraper-high stilettos that made her legs look incredible, although, there was no doubt that she looked incredible without them too.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He hugged her a little tighter, just enough to show his desperation.  It was more than bad etiquette, it was probably a violation of the rules, but he didn’t care.  He really liked her.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Please, tell me your name.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I’m sorry,” she said, voice drowned out by the subwoofer of blaring electronica.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>She ducked away from his faltering arms and vanished into the darkness.  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
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</p><p>**</p><p><br/>
</p><p>Professor Hux was used to it, people hating him, usually for relatively understandable reasons like failing a paper with piss-poor grammar or refusing to write a glowing reference letter when the student was average at best.  But he drew a blank at the ire of this little runt because he had no idea who she was.  Standing in the threshold of his office door, at a height barely level with the lightswitch, she glared at him like he had run over her family dog.  She wasn’t one of his students, that he could be sure.  She seemed familiar…</p><p>“Have we met before?”</p><p>“Kind of? My friend is your student.  Finn Hart.”</p><p>Ah, FN-2187.  His grad student, average at best, with a penchant for questioning feedback.  A big mouth too.  No wonder this girl was so hostile.</p><p>“He is currently on teaching assistant duties with Professor Phasma.  Room SC-307.”</p><p>“I’m not looking for him! I’m here to work.”</p><p>“Work?” He indeed had requested a work study technician, but— “I only accept graduate students.  The registrar must have slipped up, typical, with all the staff changes and inevitable incompetence. I apologize for the misunderstanding on their behalf.  Kindly shut the door behind you, gently please, the hinge is overzealous.” </p><p>“I <em>am</em> a grad student!”</p><p>“You?” He blinked in surprise. “How old <em>are</em> you?” </p><p>“T-that’s none of your business!” she barked back. “But since you’ll probably check my file, I’ll tell you so don’t go snooping around. I’m twenty-seven.”</p><p>She could pass for twenty-one. Perhaps it was the rounded cheeks, or her childish sense of fashion with the pocket monster t-shirt, oversized glasses, and beanie hat that he assumed was her first attempt at knitting.</p><p>“And you, professor? There’s a rumour going around that you drink the blood of your students to keep that young face of yours.”</p><p><em>Young?</em> His appearance was <em>not</em> young. He was haggard and old and jaded. “I am thirty-eight.”</p><p>“Damn, I owe Finn a beer. I thought you were thirty-one, which in hindsight makes no sense for a university prof with their doctorate, but I heard you’re really smart. Thought you were a child prodigy. Anyway, we’re not here to discuss those things— show me what I have to work on.”</p><p>She sauntered into his tidy office with those filthy converse shoes, roughly placing down a broken-lidded traveler’s mug dripping with coffee, threatening to leak onto his pristine floor.  She shimmied off her yellow creature-shaped knapsack, and dropped it to the side, again without grace or care.  He couldn’t do anything but watch, as he sat behind his desk, still processing her speech— did he really look young to her?</p><p>“Are you just gonna sit there like a useless king? Where’s the work?”</p><p>He recomposed himself, with a scowl that didn’t shake her confidence.  No matter, he would teach her a lesson.  </p><p>He rose to full height, and she flinched back in surprise when he was suddenly right in front of her, looking down on her, observing how still and silent she had become.  Then, he brushed her ear with a light touch of his knuckles, and she shut her eyes.  Silly, innocent girl.  Did she think he was going to push back the choppy strands of black hair, and take a bite at her neck, to suck her blood like the youthful vampire she thought he was? He reached behind her to grab a faulty laptop on the shelf, then prodded its blunt corner into her shoulder.  “This will be your assignment.”</p><p>He returned to his desk and hid his smirk.  The girl was utterly transparent with her fear.  </p><p>His satisfaction however lasted no more than ten minutes, as she disrupted the serenity of his office with unabashed muttering.   He had to let it slide because there was no university rule against useless subvocal chatter in the presence of a professor, but—</p><p>“Coarse language will not be tolerated.  This is a warning.”</p><p>“Fuckin’ hell,” she muttered again, clearly ignoring him. “What kind of lab in this day and age still uses this god-awful ancient thing?”</p><p>He did not <em>choose</em> that ancient garbage. He would re-equip his whole lab had his funding not been cut, had he not been undermined by that despicable Pryde. “I stress this again.  You have been <em>warned,</em> Miss—"</p><p>“Rose Tico,” she supplied, eyes never leaving her laptop screen. Despite her foul tongue, she was surprisingly diligent. </p><p>“Miss Tico. You are new to this office and to my department.  I will let the offense slide just this once. Let it be known, however, that I do not tolerate profanity.  You would be wise to follow the rules. Your job and reference are at my mercy.”</p><p>“Wait, what about my job and reference?” She finally broke away from the screen, confusion evident on her face.</p><p>“Did you not hear a word I just said?”</p><p>“Only the tail end—sorry, when I catch code that’s off, I kind of zone out my surroundings.”</p><p>“You will never find success in your career with this level of professionalism, or lack thereof. “ </p><p>“Listen, I’ll get the job done, so just deal with it.  Unless you have the budget to hire an external tech?”</p><p>The heat rose to his ears, and he suppressed the urge to yell back.  He was running on thin ice with Pryde, and a harassment claim would certainly demote him further, maybe even get him fired.</p><p>“Complete your work,” he said between gritted teeth. “Do not touch anything aside from your assignment.  I will be in the lab if you require assistance.”</p><p>He walked straight out of his office, forgetting to heed his own advice as the door slammed shut in a deafening bang.   </p><p><br/>
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</p><p><br/>
</p><p>**</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <em>The half-moon of punctures left a scar, living proof of that night.  He tried to bribe the organizers, to track down all the names of the women present that night, but their stance was firm and anonymity was maintained.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He frequented the parties only to observe. Nobody could compare to the phantom biter.</em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>**</p><p><br/>
</p><p> </p><p><br/>
</p><p>Another grant proposal rejected.  Another year of sub-standard lab equipment and whingeing graduate students.  He tried not to sigh too loudly, refusing to contribute even a single fraction of a decibel more to the cacophony in his office.  </p><p>“Can we not work in silence?”</p><p>“It helps me think.”</p><p>“I suppose it is the price to pay for an amateur.”</p><p>“Excuse me? Just because I don’t have the years to back me up, doesn’t mean that I can’t do my job.”</p><p>“A professional would not only complete their tasks, they would act and speak appropriately”—he eyed her oversized dragon-patterned jumper and the halfmoon friendship necklace dangling from her neck— "and dress the part.”</p><p>“Oh fuck off,” she whispered but he heard it. </p><p>“<em>Miss Tico,</em> I am warning you for the last time.  Watch your language and attitude.  Do not force my hand.  I will report your misconduct if this unprofessional behaviour does not cease.”</p><p>“Unprofessional behaviour?  Speak for yourself, <em>Hux.”</em></p><p>She stared him down like she knew, like she could read his mind and see all the raunch and kink and profanity he had performed throughout the years— at the thoughts he had every night, of the things he would like to do to the girl who had left her mark.  His hand twitched, not from her blatant defiance at dropping the honorific— no, it twitched because of the scar, the physical evidence of his escapades and desires unfitting of an academic leader.  </p><p>He twitched, not in anger, but in fear.</p><p>“I’m done,” she abruptly announced, finally breaking their eye contact and bending down to pick up her knapsack. “Call me if it crashes, but I think I’ve got it permanently fixed.”</p><p>He couldn’t move his jaw, let alone form a witty reply.  He was too struck by those intense, deep brown, knowing eyes. </p><p>“I’ll email you my timesheet for approval.” Then the door clicked shut, with deliberate care.</p><p>She… won. She dominated him.</p><p>He ran a shaky hand through his carefully combed hair, heart inexplicably racing.</p><p>He was losing everything.  He once lost to Ren, then to Pryde, now to a pint-sized grad student.  All the order in his life was slipping from his grasp, down into the gutter where he belonged. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>**</p><p><br/>
</p><p><em>The party relieved all stress, aside from the tension in his heart.  He got spanked and flogged and never removed his gloves to check for a matching bite because he knew that she was not amongst these degenerates. </em> </p><p>
  <em>In a dark corner of the room, he slipped off the leather from his scarred hand and jerked himself to ecstasy. </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>**</p><p><br/>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p> </p><p>“The FT-IR program crashes incessantly.”</p><p>“I bet it does.”</p><p>“Follow me.”</p><p>He led her down the corridor, up two flights, and into the lab to show her the temperamental equipment.  When she rolled her eyes at the ancient and decrepit machine, he took no offense. </p><p>“If you require any assistance, do not hesitate to ask.”</p><p>Surprisingly, she acquiesced with a curt nod and immediately set to work.  Not a single sarcastic remark nor complaint; just quiet, the lab was entirely quiet, save for the FT-IR wheezing like it was suffering from anaphylactic shock.  Perhaps, her own supervisor had given her a warning, and she now feared the negative feedback.  She won that last round; he refused to let her win this time. </p><p>But there was no foul language, not even a mutter.  Just quiet tinkering.  He easily lost himself in his numbers with the comfortable silence.</p><p>Until, his ears perked up from noisy rustling.  Short arm stretched out and standing on tip-toes, she was reaching for something, a box on the top shelf, likely containing some needed parts for her task. He instantly rushed over and leaned in from behind, chest flush with her back, looking down at the crown of black hair barely level with his heart; she was at least five inches shorter than the phantom biter, he mentally noted.  The scent of her floral shampoo filled him with pleasant imagery, of a lush garden, pretty like her first name.  Without much of a stretch, he collected the box from the shelf and handed it to her. They stood so close that he could count the little imperfections, tiny freckles, on her blushing cheeks.  It helped to distract from her sparkling gaze. “Thanks,” she whispered and took the box.</p><p>His heart pounded. </p><p>He tried to resume his paperwork, but the words and numbers became a jumbled mess.  He could no longer concentrate. She did not mutter nor curse, and yet his focus was completely shot. </p><p>And when she left with a courteous goodbye, he was floored.</p><p>She obeyed his rules, but she somehow won, again.</p><p><br/>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p> </p><p>**</p><p><br/>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>His measured footsteps echoed in the hallway towards his office, but there was something else in the air, thick tension, and voices around the corner that grew louder as he approached.  Likely a couple’s quarrel, he predicted by the tone of their impassioned murmurs.  He never intervened in this sort of nonsense, it was below his notice, but this lover’s spat was disturbing and inconsiderate for the surrounding offices hard at work. </p><p>He turned the corner, ready to give them an earful.  But he stopped dead at the sight of Miss Tico and his student, FN-2187.  Tico’s eyes were brimming with tears, and the inexplicable urge to inflict bodily harm on FN-2187 flared in his clenched fist.  Instead of ducking into his office, minding his own business like a professor of his stature should do, he charged ahead in quick strides to slice through the tension.</p><p>“Tico,” he intoned, voice level despite his absolute rage towards FN-2187. “The portable XRF is out of commission.  Your assistance is required.”</p><p>FN-2187 sputtered, but Hux grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her into his office. </p><p>He shut the door before even switching on the light.  A faint glow filtered through the drawn blinds of the window behind his desk.  It was enough to illuminate her form, but hopefully still dark enough to put her at ease. He watched her silhouette, wiping her eyes. </p><p>“Thanks,” she said.</p><p>“What for?”</p><p>“Nothing. Just, know that I’m grateful.”</p><p>His heart was pounding again.  He was tempted to escape, but Tico switched on the light and set to work on the XRF that did, in fact, have a problem.  For once, he was grateful for his ancient shitty equipment.</p><p>But he knew that she knew, that he made up the excuse on spot.  Because after she finished the troubleshooting, she said, “Thanks again, for saving me back there.”</p><p>She flashed him a smile that nearly stopped his heart.  She not only looked young, she looked beautiful.</p><p><br/>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p> </p><p>**</p><p><br/>
</p><p>He stopped going to parties because his search for the phantom biter was pointless.  She had rejected him in the first place, and Armitage didn’t feel strong enough to withstand the pain a second time.  </p><p>Within the privacy of his apartment, he masturbated to her memory. Scar pressing into his shaft, rubbing furiously, he wanted to extract the same feeling from that night, but it was not enough.  The memory was too faint, too distant, and he couldn’t get off.</p><p>“Fuck!” he yelled in frustration, breaking his own rule against coarse language, which would undoubtedly fill Tico with delight.  Brilliant and young Rose Tico, with her spitfire glare and quiet vulnerability.  He slowed down his pace and imagined her twinkling eyes, floral scent, face flush in anger, in passion, in the moment of passion… He came hard. </p><p>He rushed into the shower, scrubbed his skin raw, but couldn’t wash off the shame of having just fantasized about a student.  She wasn’t <em>his</em> student, but she was <em>a</em> student nonetheless. Rose Tico, pure and untainted, in her nerdy shapeless fashion; she was the furthest thing from a sexual object.  </p><p>She was a lovely human being and he was a monster for treating her otherwise.</p><p><br/>
</p><p> </p><p><br/>
</p><p>**</p><p><br/>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>He assumed that the shame would prevent him from enjoying her company, but it didn’t.  Her ridiculous clothes dispelled all inappropriate thoughts— today in shapeless overalls with sewn-in flower patches and a boyish second-hand dress shirt underneath.  She pouted as she attempted to repair the ESEM that an undergrad had somehow fucked, of which he knew went beyond her technical capabilities.  Watching her tinker and think, and pout again, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling.  </p><p>And he chuckled.</p><p>“What. Are you enjoying watching me struggle?”</p><p>“I may have given you an impossible task.  Never mind the repair, I will assign you something else to fill your time.”</p><p>“You think I can’t do?”</p><p>“I know you can’t do it. It exceeds the capabilities of a student technician.”</p><p>“Wanna bet?”</p><p>“I beg your pardon?”</p><p>“Wanna bet that I can fix it?” That mischievous glint in her eyes made his mouth go dry, and sent his heart racing.  “Winner decides on the prize.”</p><p>“Are we not establishing the stakes, ahead of time?”</p><p>“So that’s a yes? You’re gonna bet?”</p><p>He nodded. She was impossible to refuse. “Great!” she exclaimed, rolling up the sleeves of her baggy chemise. “Watch me, Armitage Hux. I’ll definitely crack this.”</p><p>“Please don’t <em>crack</em> any of the parts with your brute force.  It is still an expensive piece of equipment, even in disrepair.”</p><p>She chuckled this time, then dove into work.  When Rose Tico was problem-solving, the whole world seemed to disappear.  He could probably poke those rounded cheeks and she wouldn’t flinch.  It was endearingly cute, not in a sexy way, but in a I-can-watch-you-all-day type of way. Like watching a lab rat figure out how to escape a trap.  He not only admired her intelligence and curiosity; he found it relatable, and a reminder of his younger self.  Had they been the same age, meeting in High School, they might have been friends, maybe even more than friends. </p><p>In another life.</p><p><br/>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>*</p><p>“Tico, it’s getting late.  Never mind the prize bet.  I won’t request anything.” </p><p>“I’m not leaving until I get this fixed.”</p><p>“You have already exceeded your work study hours.”</p><p>“I don’t care. I just want to solve this. I <em>know</em> I can do it.”</p><p>Tenacity, another quality that he admired. It was something that he looked for in a partner, but she was eleven years his junior and a student and why was he constantly thinking of these things? </p><p>He threw her the keys. “Lock up when you’re done.”</p><p><br/>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>*</p><p>The following morning, he returned to a fixed machine and a Rose, sitting in that same chair with her head flopped back, snoring loudly with that mouth wide open.  His lips tugged into a smile, into another chuckle, then full laughter that didn’t disturb her slumber.  He nearly reached for his phone to snap a photo, but—</p><p>Teeth. Her open mouth revealed rows of pearly white teeth. Incisors and sharp canines.</p><p>He glanced down at his scar, then back to her teeth.  It was impossible.  He might have fantasied about her body hidden behind bulky childish clothing because he was a pathetic degenerate, but he shouldn’t confuse fantasy with reality.  Rose would never squeeze into a tight corset, bind her fingertips in leather and strut around in skyscraper-high stilettos, wielding a riding crop, smacking him into shape before soothing him with soft cherry-lipped kisses along his throat.  Rose probably spent her evenings studying, playing games, tinkering with old computer parts— that was the sort of afterhour activity he did as a teen and young adult.  </p><p>He suddenly found himself by her side.  When did his feet move so swiftly on their own? </p><p>She couldn’t be the phantom biter. This was crazy. <em>He</em> was crazy.  But despite his warring thoughts, he lifted his hand—</p><p>“You owe me!” she shouted, eyes flying open and pushing him two feet backwards.</p><p>“Don’t be ridiculous.”  He clasped his hands behind his back, where they should be kept forever locked.</p><p>“But I won the bet! Took me all night, but I fixed it.”</p><p>“Fine. What do you want?”</p><p>“Take me to the movies!”</p><p><br/>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p> </p><p>**</p><p><br/>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>The gore on screen shocked even himself. </p><p>He couldn’t discern whether she enjoyed the genre, maybe she chose this film on his behalf, but there was undoubtable fascination in her twinkling eyes that never wavered from the screen.  Her hands, however, were another story.</p><p>In a moment of suspense, she pinched the woolen cuff of his coat.  As the tension escalated, so did she, bunching the fabric tighter and nearly cutting off the circulation around his thin wrist. He attempted to shake her off with a slight twist, but her fingers slipped and landed on his knuckles instead.  He didn’t pull back, nor did she.</p><p>On screen, the killer was on the chase and her fingers twitched to the beat of his loud footfalls, itching for another clutch, but there was no flowing fabric, just his hard hand.  Tentatively, he flipped his hand and her fingers fell into his palm. The killer cornered his prey and at every stab, her nails dug deeper into his skin, scratching him, tickling the scar, then slipping between his fingers. He trapped her there, joints locking like two perfect cogs, never letting go even when the gruesome scene came to a close.</p><p>This physical contact was nice.  Wholesome, peaceful, despite the bloodshed and shrill cries blasting in the theater.</p><p>They held hands for the rest of the film, until the credits rolled and patrons started filing out the theater.  He assumed that she was the type of person to stay to the very end, to give her gratitude to the makers of the film. She was kind that way. </p><p>After the last group of chatty teens made their way towards the exit, leaving them alone in the semi-dark theater, her gaze finally broke away from the screen and she turned towards him.</p><p>The look she gave him, it made his heart race because it wasn’t innocent, at least, he didn’t think it was.  If it were any other woman, he would be sure of the intention. But this was Rose Tico. Sweet, nerdy, kind-hearted Rose Tico. Adorable Rose Tico.  He shouldn’t have these feelings, this reaction towards her, but he was still holding her hand and she was leaning closer.</p><p>She smelled so nice.  With pretty twinkling eyes and plush-looking lips. He wanted to brush his tall nose against the tip of her cute button one. He wanted to kiss her.</p><p>His heart couldn’t take it any longer.</p><p>“We should leave,” he said, steeling his expression, praying that she didn’t read his thoughts. He was sick, a pervert. Abusing his power as her superior.</p><p>Her eyes glazed over, and she dropped his hand. “Guess we should.”</p><p> </p><p><br/>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>**</p><p><br/>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>He didn’t see Rose for two weeks and counting. There was no equipment to fix, and he assumed that she was hard at work on her own thesis. </p><p>He debated texting her.  But deemed it inappropriate. </p><p>That day in the movie theater, he had almost kissed her.  He had wanted to continue holding her hand, all the way to his car and throughout the drive back to his place, where he would have made her dinner and played a wholesome board game into the night.  He would have driven her home, unless she wanted to stay and cuddle.  He never cuddled, but he would have done it for her.  </p><p>He craved these things, he wanted to see her, but he did not dare initiate contact.</p><p>She would certainly push him away.  Old and jaded Hux didn’t belong with the bright youthful Rose. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>**</p><p><br/>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>4:30 am, Saturday morning.  </p><p>He found himself back on campus for work after a sleepless night.  Trudging from street parking towards his department’s building, he stopped dead in his tracks.</p><p> A phantom.</p><p>  Not just any phantom, but one with skyscraper-high stilettos clopping against the sidewalk pavement, proving that she was not a phantom at all.  She was physical, walking ahead of him, and not an apparition of his sleep-deprived mind.   </p><p>Huddling herself for warmth, she rubbed her leather-clad palms against the side of her choker-bound neck.  Even though her boots reached her thighs and her gloves passed her elbows, the rest of her soft flesh was tastefully exposed.  Or rather, they were simply <em>tasty</em>.  The thong of her bodysuit cut between her ass cheeks and effectively bared all.  She was also corseted and he could only imagine what that did to the plump chest he knew she had.  </p><p>As he lengthened his stride, picking up speed to close their distance, he noticed just how much she was shivering from the autumnal early morning air.  Why was she out dressed like this? Nobody was around at this hour, and campus was relatively safe, but, pardon his language— <em>what the fuck.</em> </p><p>He instantly took off his long coat and jogged the rest of the distance to drop it on her bare shoulders.  She flinched, defensive like a feral street cat, whipping around and readying a fighting stance.  </p><p>Then he froze, and so did she.  He was met with the widened eyes of Rose Tico!</p><p>“What are you doing?” he asked dumbly, still registering that it was <em>Rose Tico.</em></p><p>Her ferocity deflated.  “Oh, just. Coming home from a party.”</p><p>“Why are you dressed in so little?”</p><p>“Some asshole stole my coat.”</p><p>“No. <em>Why are you dressed in so little.”</em> He glanced down to her cleavage then back up to cherry fuckin’ lips. He grabbed her wrist.</p><p>“Um, Hux? Where are we—”</p><p>“To my office.”</p><p><br/>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>*</p><p>His overzealous office door shut behind them with a bang, hinges rattling from the force.  She winced at the loud sound, but he did not react. He simply could not remove his eyes from this tiny dom in scant clothing, standing on high heels in his fuckin’ office.  At this point, he didn’t care if the bite matched or not; he just wanted to wreck those cherry-red lips until they were pink and raw and back to their natural state.  He frustratingly wanted this forbidden fruit.  He wanted <em>Rose.</em></p><p>He hovered the side of his scarred palm by her mouth.  Her gaze dropped, thick lashes veiling the twinkle of her deep brown eyes.</p><p>“Bite. I need confirmation.”</p><p>At the mere sight of her expression, faint blush and pursing lips, he felt himself grow hard. Then, she bit down and he hissed, not from pain but from pleasure that tingled all the way down to his groin.  </p><p>Sharp canines and incisors. They matched the halfmoon of punctures.  It was a match, he found the phantom biter! But after all those months of longing, the revelation did not stir his heart.  </p><p>Only Rose Tico’s presence did.  He hadn’t seen her in twenty-six fuckin’ days, he had kept diligent track, and felt the disappointment sink into his gut at every passing day.  He missed her, more than he realized.</p><p>And now, she stood taller than usual, half-dressed in his office like the embodiment of temptation.  </p><p>“Do you remember that night?” he breathed out.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“And did you suspect that… I could have been that person?”</p><p>“I knew who you were at the party before we hooked up.  You’re infamous around campus.  The uptight vampire, with his slicked-back hair and perfectly ironed slacks.  Even my department chats about you.”</p><p>“Did you have a good laugh?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“A good laugh, with your friends. Mocking me, spreading rumours that aren’t rumours at all—I am a pathetic degenerate, I don’t need students to confirm this fact.”</p><p>“What?! Why would you say that? I’d never— I don’t think that <em>at all!”</em></p><p>“Why would you keep this from me? All this time, working under my nose while I longed for you.  Why did you not say anything when you knew my identity?”</p><p>“Because I didn’t want to be your <em>sex doll,</em> okay? I wanted you to see me, for me, and not like this”—she shrugged off his coat, baring her shoulders and the curvature of her pretty neck—"but I guess you saw my normal self and weren’t interested.”</p><p>“What nonsense are you claiming?”</p><p>“You rejected me! At the movies, you didn’t want to kiss me.” </p><p>Her eyes brimmed with tears and he could not quite believe what was happening.  The glistening moisture welled into a bead at the corner, then dripped, trailing down her flushed cheek, followed by another and another.  </p><p>He, Armitage Hux, made Rose Tico cry. There was no FN-2187 to blame.  He had done it.</p><p>“I wanted to kiss you!” he shouted, desperation rising in his voice.  “I couldn’t act on that desire, not with my position as your work study supervisor.”</p><p>She blinked, tears coming to a halt, but still looking sad. “You know, I was hoping that you’d break your strict rules for me.  That you’d take a little risk and really live for once, like the way you did that night.”</p><p>“What do you propose I do? Tell me, Rose.  What am I supposed to do in <em>this</em> scenario?!”</p><p>“I want you to kiss me, Armitage.”</p><p>He did not hesitate. Taking her chin between index and thumb, he bent down and leaned his tall nose against the tip her cute button one, then pushed forward to collide with those plush, delicious, red lips of hers.  She was simply decadent, sinful, but so very right.  The fabric of his carefully ironed slacks strained at the groin.  He pulled away before getting ahead of himself.  “Anything else?” he asked, breathless after only one kiss.</p><p>“Hold me and tell me how you feel.”</p><p>He wrapped his arms around her corseted waist, voice dropping to a whisper.  “I cannot deny, I want to fuck your brains out.  But not for my own pleasure, no— I want to do it because I want to see you writhing in ecstasy.  I want you to be happy.  I have never felt this way before, never risked my career and acted rogue. I am barely holding on. Rose, this overwhelming feeling in my heart…  It’s madness, but I believe it’s love.”</p><p>She dragged him down into a searing kiss that burned all the way to his cock.  He moaned into her mouth, and she did not relent.  She punished him for all the lost time, for all the kisses they could have shared, had he not been such an uptight asshole sticking to the rules. </p><p>She was messing up his hair, and all the papers on his desk. She was messing up his life, his order, his reputation, potentially his job, but he did not care. </p><p>Old and jaded Armitage Hux was not good enough for the bright and youthful Rose Tico.  But Rose wanted Armitage, and that was a good enough reason for him to bite his tongue, push back his insecurities, and match the rhythm of her hips.</p><p><br/>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>**<br/>
E X T R A<br/>
**<br/>
</p><p> </p><p>
A ray of sunlight pierced into the dark office as her gloved fingers peeled apart two slats of the drawn window blinds.  The varsity football team went about their morning drills. Overachieving students trekked towards the library.  Campus was bustling for a Saturday. </p><p>Nothing could be done about his hair, but he smoothed down his shirt and expertly knotted his tie back to a double Windsor.  He glanced at Rose and smiled at all the hickeys and scratches on her neck.  She would do well with another one on the left side, to balance out the right. </p><p>He nipped her nape and palmed her leather-clad waist from behind.</p><p>“I can’t leave,” she said, still staring between the gap to the outside world and ignoring the man chewing at her delicate skin. “Not wearing this.” </p><p>He grazed his nose all the way up to her ear.  “A shame.  What will you do?” </p><p>“Dammit, Hux! You kept me here too long.”</p><p>“Guess you’ll just have to stay.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Under my desk. Not for long, mind you.  I have a meeting with FN-2187, then I can drive you home.”</p><p>“Oh my god, do you seriously call your students by their <em>student number?</em> No wonder they call you the Fascist General.”</p><p>“No. Just him.”</p><p>“Him? Wait… is FN-2187, is that who I think it is? Finn? Is it Finn?!”</p><p>He smirked and took a playful bite at her earlobe. </p><p>“Since when are you a dom? I thought you liked being sub!”</p><p>“Rose, I am at your mercy.  My desk is solid wood with feet completely flush with the floor.  It is a soundproof box under there.  Not to mention, my students typically stand in the doorway for their meetings.  I have to keep up appearances, not you.”</p><p>She turned around and gave him a devilish smile, all teeth.  Pearly white incisors and canines.  “You’re gonna regret this.”</p><p>“I welcome the challenge.”</p><p> </p><p><br/>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Tase it, Tease it, Tame it</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p><b>T-Rating</b><br/>A gingerrose meet-ugly. Rose is a bouncer and Hux is trying to get into her strip club without an invite.<br/><b>Tags:</b> Bouncer AU, Crack, Slapstick Comedy, Mild Dom!Rose/Sub!Hux</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is a silly fic and wasn't gonna see the light of day, until the GR discord encouraged me to keep it alive.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rose has seen it all.  Every type of guy, every excuse, often obsessed with one of the girls, maybe an ex, maybe a hookup, always too pea-brained or dick-brained to read the sign: <em>invite</em> <em>only</em>.  Her club is a safe, respectable environment for her girls. They have a vetting system, an entire app for that purpose; she designed and coded it and <em>knows</em> it’s foolproof.  She won’t take anyone’s bullshit, not even if they’re a towering foot taller, and trying to intimidate her with their wealth and distinguished accent.   </p>
<p>The ginger dick steps right up to her, squaring narrow shoulders. Rose doesn’t flinch.  He may be tall and smell expensive, but she has a job to do. She can easily treat him like another lamppost topped with a bright orange light on this empty street.</p>
<p>“I am not here to see rubbish. Well, I <em>am</em> here for rubbish, but not to witness the foul stench of these depraved harlots.”</p>
<p>She rolls her eyes.  Typical.  A rich guy in denial, insulting her girls to hide his own insecurities. “Get lost buddy. There’s a clear system. Download the app, follow the rules. You <em>do</em> know how to read and follow rules right?”</p>
<p>That hits a nerve. His clean-shaven jaw flaps but no sound comes out; blood pumps underneath translucent skin, in a scarlet bloom across cheeks and ears that match his fiery hair. He takes a sharp breath through flaring nostrils. “O-of course, I follow regulation!” he seethes, pitch several tones higher as if she just pinched his balls. “However, inside your hovel, one of my colleagues is cavorting and I need to return him to our Superior!”</p>
<p>Again, Rose rolls her eyes. She has heard that one twice already tonight.  If he keeps this up, her head will start to spin from all the rolling.  “That’s what they <em>all</em> say.  Look, mister…”</p>
<p>“Hux. Armitage Hux.”</p>
<p>“Alright, <em>Armitage</em>. I understand, truly, I do.  You’re used to getting exactly what you want, all the time, wherever you go. You can strut into any space and command the room like some general.  Society raised you this way, you don’t know any better, I get it. But listen up because I’m only gonna say this once.”  She grips his silk tie and wrenches him down to her level. “Behind that door is <em>my</em> space. Not yours, <em>mine</em>. I make the rules around here and I ain’t budging until you’re vetted.  No bribes, no exceptions.  Now be a good boy, <em>follow the rules</em>, and come back if your profile passes the test.”</p>
<p>She releases her death grip on the slip of black silk, and lightly pushes him back.   </p>
<p>She won. Surely, he gets it. Any time now, he’ll pivot on those Gucci soles and recede into the dark night…</p>
<p>Nope.</p>
<p>The bastard doesn’t give up.  Shapely lips, arched like a bow, pull up in a smirk that pierces Rose's heart. Cupid's either picking a fight or readying a love shot.  Despite his red flush, confidence exudes from that thin skin. Her hand instinctively drops to her back pocket where the handle of her taser pokes out.  She <em>thought</em> she had seen it all.  This reaction is new. The men usually backed away by now, especially when she uses her dom voice, but this Armitage Hux is tenacious and unpredictable.</p>
<p>Like a gunslinger quicker on the draw, his skinny arm shoots out before she can grab her trusty weapon.  His gloved hand hits her face… with a gentle <em>caress</em>. The palm of smooth leather cups her round cheek and guides her gaze into his. She didn’t notice before; his eyes are a pretty seafoam green that glisten in the dim streetlight.  He blinks and those pale long lashes bat like the delicate wings of a damselfly, perched above the harsh lines of high cheekbones and tall nose.  Hard yet soft. Strict yet sensitive. Damn it, he’s kinda cute.</p>
<p>But Rose is no romantic, not anymore at least.  And this isn’t some noble duel.  He may look like a Victorian British aristocrat, but she’s a Vietnamese guerrilla fighter at heart. </p>
<p>She whips out her taser and stabs the twin prongs into his gut.  She fires.</p>
<p>Poetic eyes blow out, wide, and he yelps, high-pitched like a castrato in an opera hall. He crumbles onto the asphalt in an awkward heap of jutting lanky limbs.</p>
<p>“What did you do to me? I-I cannot feel—"</p>
<p>Rose slips on her Diamond Tears headphones and lets the boom of kira-kira J-pop drown out whatever the man was screaming, probably obscenities. The music conjures images of neon colours, anthropomorphic confectionary, and pig-tailed girls with bold eyes stretching up a third of their face—nothing like the calm, pastel green that she… Forget it, she’s in kira-kira land.</p>
<p>Only when Connix comes out, arms flailing like an angry octopus, Rose pauses her music and returns to dull, monochrome reality. “What the <em>hell</em> Rose. You’re not supposed to actually tase them!”</p>
<p>“He touched me.”</p>
<p>Connix gives her a once-over, no doubt judging her vintage Oshkosh overalls that she found in the kid’s section of Value Village. “He could find your tits or ass in that?”</p>
<p>“My face!”</p>
<p>“Oh God forbid it wasn’t the wrist or ankle! This looks <em>horrible</em>, Rose. We can’t have a dead body lying on the sidewalk.”</p>
<p>“Sure we can.  Let’s say he’s drunk.”</p>
<p>“I am coherent, everything considered.”</p>
<p>“Get him out of here before someone sees!”</p>
<p>“Oh c’mon, Connix, can’t you call Snap?”</p>
<p>“Snap’s performing tonight! He’s been a pain in the ass diva all night as it is. This is <em>your</em> responsibility, you deal with it!” Connix storms off, swings open the door, and Rose barrels in before it closes. “Rose, what did I just—”</p>
<p>“I need to get my longboard. You think I can haul a 6 foot something dude on my own?”</p>
<p>Connix shrugs. “Whatever, just get it done,” she says, then disappears behind the black curtain.  Rose continues down the dark hall that pulses with the booming subwoofer of the dance stage on the other side of the wall.  She arrives at a non-descript door, a well-hidden emergency exit leading to the girls’ locker room.</p>
<p>Harsh overhead fluorescent lights assault her retinas upon entry.  Squinting, she wades through discarded clothes, robes and everything in between, until she reaches her longboard propped against the bank of lockers.  She takes Rey’s too, and Snap’s roll of duct tape for extra measure.</p>
<p>She rushes back to her lengthy problem.</p>
<p>“What are you planning with those— umm, excuse me, <em>where</em> do you think you are touching?!”</p>
<p>She lifts a skinny thigh, slides one board underneath, and straps it down with the tape.  She repeats with the other leg.  The adhesive has the power to tuck Snap’s parts and wig; it should hold up.  Slipping the roll on her wrist like a bangle, she extends Hux's arms over his head and uses them as handles to drag the whole. A little janky, but it works.  Good thing he’s shaped like a pole— thin, easy to maneuver, and relatively lightweight now that he’s on wheels.</p>
<p>“Where are you taking me?! I will have you sued. Mark my word—”</p>
<p><em>Scrrr-chhh</em>. Rose slaps a piece of the silver tape over his mouth. She hopes he hasn’t woken up any of the neighbors; she’s not sure what she’d say if someone saw them. With his limp body bound to boards and his muffled cries, they might call the cops.   </p>
<p>She arrives at her apartment complex, an austere block of concrete from the 70s that looms with an even heavier burden.  Dragging this makeshift cart and cargo down the flat street was the easy part.  Living on the fourth floor without an elevator is the real big bad boss.  She gets him through the door, past the vestibule, then sighs as she looks up the first flight of steps.  It’s like the endless staircase in Super Mario 64 but without the fun music. Just an echoey upright passage that amplifies her raspy panting.</p>
<p>She never wants to kill a person. Dealing with the body would be too much of a nightmare.  If she ever succumbs to bloodlust, she’d only consider going down the Sweeney Todd route—install a specific trap door that leads straight into the meat grinder.</p>
<p>The longboards are useless at this point. She rips off the tape—whoops, sorry Armani pants—and lifts his pancake ass one step at a time.  He’s numb and won’t feel anything, but Rose winces at every thud, every bump that will likely leave splotches of purple on that pasty white skin. <em>Sorry</em>.</p>
<p>His mouth struggles against the tape. Maybe he’s trying to tell her something, but it’s too risky to let him speak.  He’ll probably belt out with that castrato voice and wake up all the grannies. His muffled whining is loud as it is.   </p>
<p>“Shut it, will you? The effects will wear off. Be grateful that I’m not leaving you in the back alley.”</p>
<p>Up and up, one step at a time, she makes it to the fourth. She rolls his string bean body down the hall and into her apartment—rolling is way easier than dragging— and with one last flex of her guns, she hoists him onto her defacto bed, a mattress on the floor. She crouches by his feet, removing fancy leather loafers and placing them neatly by the door.  The whining increases.</p>
<p>“Look, I don’t want you walking all over my floor with your dirty shoes when you wake up.”</p>
<p>More muffled jargon.</p>
<p>“Yeah yeah yeah, I know they’re Gucci, but the soles still touch the filthy ground us <em>commoners</em> walk on, okay?”</p>
<p>She should remove his gloves too. Why is he even wearing gloves anyway? Summer nights are cool, but it’s <em>summer</em>. </p>
<p>The fastener on the cuff is tricky, annoyingly tight, as if he’s paranoid of losing his artificial hide and exposing his soft, delicate interior; she digs her short fingernail into the bare flesh of his wrist and manages to release the clasp.  The glove slides off, revealing slender fingers that she resents.  <em>Pianist hands.  </em>He can probably tickle ivory keys like a pro and make any Asian mother proud; no matter how much Rose practiced, her stubby fingers couldn’t even stretch an octave.</p>
<p>His nails are nicely trimmed, a healthy pink framed by clean cuticles. He’s really a dapper man, manicured, maintained.  But his once primly styled hair is now in disarray, mussed up from the affair. She was too rough on him. He may be a dick who insulted her girls and tried to trespass her club, but he didn’t deserve this treatment. Violence never solves anything.</p>
<p>The tape hiding his shapely lips must feel uncomfortable.  Even if he screams, her neighbors won’t hear him through the dense concrete walls.  It couldn’t hurt to grant him this small concession.</p>
<p>She wedges the blunt nail of her forefinger between soft skin and polyethylene backing, then peels off the tape as gently as she can—thank goodness he keeps a close shave. Mouth free, he gulps the air in a dramatic, almost cartoonish gasp. She braces herself for the barrage of curses.</p>
<p>“This is improper!”</p>
<p>She deserves it, after all.</p>
<p>“Who do you think you are?  I will not stand this…this <em>striptease</em>.  This utter lack of respect. It is assault! <em>Sexual a</em>—”</p>
<p>His jaw hangs open, mid-word.  He stares at her, unnervingly silent.</p>
<p>Did she have something on her face?</p>
<p>It could be the sweat. Her fringe sticks to her forehead, and the thick denim from chest to ankles itch her prickling hot skin.  She bends down, reaching for his face.  His breathing slows into deep, measured puffs through that proud nose; his pretty eyes flutter shut, the knit between his brows soften— </p>
<p>She tips his head onto its side.  There. Now he can’t watch her while she changes. She gets up and heads to her dresser.</p>
<p>“You’re not going to continue?” he asks.</p>
<p>Cracking open her pants drawer, she chooses a pair of cotton leggings. Lightweight, breathable, it should provide better comfort than the bulky overalls.  “Continue what?” she volleys back from across the room.</p>
<p>“Really? That clueless are we?” He chuckles, and honestly, Rose is too tired to decipher the meaning of his cryptic words.  Her head spins from all that exercise.  She needs to change her underwear— boyshorts can’t be worn under stretchy fabric.  All that hard labour, the sweat, has soaked through her graphic tee too.  Damn, she has to change everything.  </p>
<p>She strips it all off in a frenzied shuffle.</p>
<p>Stark nude, Rose walks over to the basket of clean clothes that she forgot to put away two weeks ago. She rifles through the pile and picks out her favourite full-cup bra, her only thong, and an oversized lumberjack button-up.</p>
<p>“Hmph, so you <em>do</em> know what you’re doing.”</p>
<p>“Of course,” she says while buttoning up the shirt, leaving the collar generously open. She slots her taser into her bra.  “I know what to do to keep my club safe, and it means returning to my shift.  When the effects of the taser wear off, go home.” </p>
<p>“What? That’s it?<em>”</em></p>
<p>She steps into her beat-up high tops.  As she crouches down to lace them up, his black polished loafers catch her eye, particularly the scuffs at the toe.  That was her fault.</p>
<p>“If you’re thirsty or hungry, there’s Brita-filtered water in the fridge and leftover mie goreng in the blue Tupperware. Help yourself.  The door locks behind on its own, just make sure to shut off the lights and don’t let DJ out.” Her lazy hound in the corner perks up for a split-second before lying back down. “Yeah, he may look dopy and useless, but he’s actually really crafty. He brings back bounty if he’s let out, and I don’t want to deal with more dead bodies tonight.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>**</p>
<p> </p>
<p>DJ greets her with a bark on the other side of the door as she fiddles with her keys, exhausted after the last leg of her shift. How strange. Her doggo <em>never</em> gets up to see her, not to mention it’s 4am; he should be asleep.  She cracks the door open, only by a few inches, and light spills in a thin beam.</p>
<p>Damn that energy-waster.  Armitage Hux must have kept the lights on purposely to annoy her. “DJ, back up—<em>no</em>, stay inside.  <em>Stay</em>. Be a good boy, <em>inside</em>.”</p>
<p>She squishes through the narrow opening like some game of vertical limbo, then quickly shuts the door before DJ can sneak out.</p>
<p><em>Oh</em>.</p>
<p>Black leather loafers with scuff marks sit prominently on her wooden shoe rack. Hux is still here, on her bed, sprawled in the exact same position facing the wall. Why hasn’t he left?</p>
<p>The effects should have worn off by now. Then again, she never tested her beloved invention on a diverse sample of people—nobody in her entourage was ginger and so fair-skinned, potentially anemic.  Shit, did she fuck up his nerves?</p>
<p>Rose frantically kicks off her high tops and rushes to his side. She falls on her knees, checks his pulse while reaching over to turn his head, to get a look at his face.  His gaze and heartbeat are unnervingly calm. “How are you feeling?”</p>
<p>“Paralyzed. Numb from the neck down.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Shit shit shit. </em>
</p>
<p>“It’s supposed to have worn off by now! You don’t have any feeling at all?”</p>
<p>“No. How will you compensate me?” he asks, with that arrogant lilt.</p>
<p>Her eyes sting with incoming tears, but she refuses to cry and quit just yet. “Do you mind if I check something? My bà taught me some therapeutic massage techniques, but I’ll need direct contact with your, umm… <em>skin</em>.”</p>
<p>He’s going to refuse, she’s sure of it. Until—</p>
<p>“Carry on.”</p>
<p>Rose exhales the breath she had been holding.  Not all hope is lost.  She starts with the tie, loosening the double Windsor knot and pulling the silk strip over his head, gaining better access to his collar buttoned fully to the top. It’s nerve-wracking the way he stares, judges, with those pale green eyes.  The stupid buttons are tight or maybe her stumpy nails are useless for the task.</p>
<p>“Sorry,” she says, clumsily jabbing the hard lump of his Adam’s apple. She feels its rise and fall as he swallows. “I’m not used to this.”</p>
<p>The next buttons are easier to undo, even though her fingers shake the lower she gets, peeling back charcoal-grey fabric to reveal his long, lean torso. He’s a board of taut modest muscle, built like a marathon-runner, for endurance rather than strength.  Hairless too, except for the straw-coloured trail below his navel that leads to— she flits back to his face.  He’s still staring with that unreadable expression.</p>
<p>She places her hands on his flat pecs, over the smooth white skin that tingles with warmth and—</p>
<p>It happens too fast. One second she was admiring his chest, the next she’s face up lying on the mattress with his triumphant smile hanging over her like a crescent moon in the sky.  How did he regain his…unless he… that <em>damn</em> liar! Rose struggles against his grip on her wrists, and his legs pinning hers into place.</p>
<p>Those twiggy arms may look frail, but they certainly are not weak.  She’s trapped under a cage of steely bars, of his surprisingly strong limbs.  It’s no use.  She can’t move.  She can only scream.</p>
<p>“Let me go! You’re hurting me!”</p>
<p>Immediately, he releases her and gets up. “No need for such a dramatic outburst. I was only setting the scene.”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“For the taser. Where is it?”</p>
<p>“It’s… why do you want to know?”</p>
<p>“Oh, I would like your assistance on a capture. Kylo Ren, in your <em>fine</em> establishment, I need to return him to our leader, of course.”</p>
<p>“The club’s closed.”</p>
<p>“I was being sarcastic.  Now, hurry. Out with the taser.”</p>
<p>“No.” She springs up, raising her chin in defiance.</p>
<p>“I know you have it somewhere on your person.” He takes one stride and hovers back into her space, enveloping her small body in his shadow. “Take it out and continue the scene!”</p>
<p>“NO!”</p>
<p>He reaches for her cheek, but Rose is quicker on the draw this time.  Her teeth sink into his wrist, a well-aimed chomp with a satisfying pierce of incisors and canines that has him grunting and... moaning? Not a prissy high-pitched moan; a deep <em>umph</em> rumble like the purr of a tiger…</p>
<p>Her jaw slackens and she backs off, glancing at the fresh red marks then to his lazy green eyes. What the f—</p>
<p>“Rose, the taser. <em>Please</em>.”</p>
<p>The plea sobers her anger, and his earnest expression twists her heart.</p>
<p>With a simple tug, the loose buttons of her second-hand shirt pop open; she doesn’t undo them all, just enough to display the handle of the taser and the proud cleft of her full breasts.  “Go ahead, take it,” she concedes.  An eye for an eye, right? Maybe then, she won’t have to deal with the awful guilt she's been feeling all night, from tasing him in the first place.  </p>
<p>Bare fingers— <em>pianist</em> fingers— graze her right breast and pluck the metal protrusion from her bra. He studies the device, activates the prongs and extends it up in the air like some trophy. Blue light crackles and spits. She readies her position.  At least she’ll collapse onto her soft mattress and not the gritty asphalt.</p>
<p>Except, the shock never comes.  He shuts off the taser, flips it around to hold it by the prongs, then shoves the handle into <em>her</em> hand.</p>
<p>“You want me to have it?</p>
<p>“I want you to <em>use</em> it.”</p>
<p>“Wait, like, <em>on</em> you? Why?”</p>
<p>“Captivity was rather illuminating.  No matter how hard I pushed my body to move, it remained inert.  No matter how many times my phone buzzed, I could not answer it. Team Leader Snoke may stalk my abode, my office, my gym, everywhere I frequent, but he will never find me <em>here</em>. I have not evaded his presence for years.  Simply put, it is liberating.”</p>
<p>“Being paralyzed is liberating?” Yikes, this poor man.  That boss must be a tyrant. “Ya know, there are other healthier ways to avoid your boss.”</p>
<p>“Never mind Snoke.  Being paralyzed is not <em>just</em> liberating. It is also… <em>enticing</em>.” He flashes her a weak smile. “The full paralysis lasts an estimated twenty minutes.  Afterwards, the body responds perfectly well to stimuli while the numbness remains.”</p>
<p>“I know. You can even move your limbs if you really concentrate, but there’s no sensitivity, no feeling.  Where’s the fun in that?”</p>
<p>He leans in closer, so close that their foreheads gently collide. His nose is so tall but it rests comfortably on her shallow slope. He holds her shoulders, keeping her stable, as her knees threaten to buckle. “Is <em>your</em> pleasure not enticing enough? You can do whatever you want to me.  Tame me however you please.”</p>
<p>“I think there are other ways to tame you.”</p>
<p>She raises on tiptoes and captures his lips, nipping the prominent cupid’s bow whose arrow reached her heart.  His hands move from shoulders to the small of her back where he draws her in.  She presses into him, kisses him harder, a little sloppy but wet and filled with desire. She should have done this sooner.</p>
<p>“How was that?” she asks, pulling away momentarily to catch her breath.  He’s equally winded and those damselfly wing lashes flutter as if dazed, floating in kira-kira land.</p>
<p>“Paralyzing. Absolutely paralyzing.”</p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I may or may not have a mild obsession with piano hands because of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Y7c9LROJ1Q">this video</a>. Classical music AU, anyone? ;D (Maybe Rose is his piano tuner, and he's the overbearing anal pianist micro-managing her work lol)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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